Texas Rich

by Fern Michaels

  It was five o’clock when Agnes finally relented and allowed the servants to leave (now that the children were gone the live-in help had been replaced with dailies who left after dinner). However, Agnes had no intention of slaving away in the kitchen: she’d ordered all manner of food prepared when the snow had started to fall heavily.

  “I think we’ll all have trays in front of the fire,” she said brightly. “The cook make a monstrous pot of black bean soup and we can have ham sandwiches. It’s only fair, Seth. The help want to get home to their own families and the roads will close in another hour. Moss doesn’t mind, and I called down to the studio to ask Billie to join us. Good hot soup is the best thing to eat on a day like this.”

  “The girl won’t be able to find her way,” Seth growled.

  “For heaven’s sake, Seth, the studio is only at the back end of the yard. I assume what you mean is you don’t want her here since she filed for divorce. If that’s the case, say so. I’ll call her and tell her not to come.”

  “Tell who not to come where?” Moss demanded as he walked into the room, heading straight for the bar.

  “I asked Billie to join us for soup and sandwiches.” Her tone was defensive, something she hated.

  “You letting this divorce throw you, Pap?” Moss asked sardonically. Agnes watched through narrowed eyes as Moss drained his double bourbon and poured another. If he kept this up, there would be an unholy row sooner or later. Better to call Billie and tell her to stay in the studio.

  “You’re damn right it’s going to throw me. Colemans don’t divorce. You slipped up, boy. I’m disappointed. Who ever heard of such a thing? Divorcing and socializing at the same time. How come she didn’t up and leave like she said she was gonna do? How come our hospitality is good enough for her, but you aren’t? Tell me that, boy.”

  “Leave it, Pap. Billie and I will handle our own affairs. That studio is hers. Sawyer is more comfortable here than in some apartment in town.”

  “The girl’s in school all week. And when she is home on the weekends, she’s off with her friends. Some logic,” the old man snorted.

  Hoping to divert the showdown she felt was coming, Agnes offered to turn on the television for the evening news. As she settled herself in her own soft, down-cushioned chair, Billie walked into the room, her head held high. There were two bright spots of color in her cheeks. “Billie!”

  “Can I get you a drink, Billie?”

  “Thank you, Moss. I’d love a glass of sherry.”

  “Seth says it’s wicked out there. He was afraid you would get lost trying to find your way to the house,” Agnes said nervously.

  “Don’t you mean Seth was hoping I would get lost? This house is lit up like a Christmas tree—all I had to do was walk a straight line. My feet are wet, though. You won’t mind if I sit by the fire, will you?” She looked directly at Seth, who nodded curtly, not bothering to answer.

  “Darling, I’ll just run upstairs, and get you a pair of slippers. I don’t want you catching cold. Pneumonia is nothing to sneeze at. Sorry about the pun,” Agnes said, forcing a smile to her lips.

  The fire hissed and crackled. Billie moved from the hearth and settled herself next to the snack table Agnes had set up by her chair. Soup and crackers and a cup of coffee would do it for her. She was dipping her spoon into the soup when her son’s image flashed on the screen.

  “What the hell is Riley doing on television?” Seth bellowed.

  “That is Riley!” Moss said with his sandwich halfway to his mouth.

  “For heaven’s sake, it is Riley,” Agnes murmured nervously.

  Billie watched as the scene was played out on the small screen.

  Five minutes later they all knew what Riley was doing on television. In a fit of anger Seth tossed his soup, the bowl, and his sandwich into the roaring fire. Moss’s face was as stormy as the weather outside. Agnes sat slumped in her chair. Billie calmly finished her soup, then excused herself and went back to the studio, silently applauding her son. If he truly believed in what he was doing—and she felt he did—then more power to him.

  She wasn’t out the door when the phone started to ring. The Colemans were going to have their hands full. Poor Moss. What a blow to his pride.

  When the eleven o’clock news went off the air, Agnes called Billie on the studio phone. “Seth was furious, absolutely livid. Moss called Riley a draft dodger and said he was shirking his duty. Seth and Moss went at it tooth and nail. I wish you could have heard them, Billie. I was. so appalled I had to leave the room. What’s come over everyone? I simply can’t understand all of this. My grandson in handcuffs! He’s free now. Seth called the family lawyer, but Riley wouldn’t leave unless the others were freed, too. Wasn’t that nice of him? He’s at the hospital now, waiting to see how his friend Mike is.”

  Billie sighed. That was so like Riley. “Mother, what do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I guess I have to admire Riley, standing up for what he believes in. But national television! We had to take the phone off the hook. Moss is downstairs as drunk as the proverbial skunk. Why did you leave, Billie? You’re Riley’s mother.”

  “I’m only Riley’s mother when it’s convenient for the others. What good could I have done? I’m on Riley’s side. You don’t think for one minute either Seth or Moss wanted to hear that, do you? Mother, I don’t want Riley going to Vietnam. I couldn’t go through all that again. I almost lost a husband to the other war. I don’t want to lose a son. I don’t care what they call him as long as he’s safe. Why was Seth so angry? He doesn’t want him to go, either.”

  “For embarrassing all of us by being interviewed in handcuffs. At least that’s what I got out of it. When Seth gets in a rage like that it’s difficult to tell what he’s really angry at. He was raving at Moss when I came upstairs. Why do these things have to happen to us?” Agnes lamented.

  Billie couldn’t help herself. “Because, Mother; we’re Colemans. We’re news.”

  “If that’s the best answer you can come up with, Billie, I’ll ring off. Good night, dear.”

  “Good night, Mother.”

  Riley Coleman didn’t go home that weekend or the next. He didn’t leave the campus until he was certain Mike was well enough to fly east for a special operation. He managed with the aid of his friends to successfully avoid phone calls from his father and grandfather. He just didn’t want to hear all the words, all the harangues he knew would be forthcoming. His mother was a different story; she understood. When he’d called her at the studio she’d told him to take it easy, not to worry about his father and grandfather. He sighed. At least she hadn’t thought it necessary for him to leave school and rush home to defend his actions. Christmas would be time enough. By then everyone would have a cool head. He was counting on it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Christmas season at Sunbridge that year was dismal. The house was beautifully decorated, but it was Billie’s studio that held the spirit of Christmas. Sawyer and Billie made handsome homemade decorations and hung them on a fragrant tree. They popped corn and hung stockings. Colorful gift-wrapped packages were everywhere. Pine cones burned merrily in the fireplace and gave off a tantalizing aroma as Billie and Sawyer drank hot chocolate in front of the fire. This place, this converted carriage house, was more of a home to Billie than Sunbridge ever was:

  Lately, Billie knew, Sunbridge was divided. Agnes was finding one excuse after another to visit the studio. Seth was harder to get along with than ever. Moss acted the part of an outraged father—how dare his son associate with radicals... act less than a Coleman?

  Billie could almost feel sorry for all of them. Seth, Agnes, and Moss were all unhappy. Riley was unhappy, too. Only she seemed to be moving in a straight line, taking things as they came.

  It was three days before Christmas. Sawyer had finished her decorations by ten o’clock and was now in bed. When the doorbell shrilled, Billie ran to answer it before Sawyer awakened.

  “Riley!” S
he embraced him in a warm hug. How good he felt. How good he smelled. Billie shivered as she pulled him into the studio and closed the door. “Take off your jacket and sit by the fire. Would you like some hot chocolate? With marshmallows?”

  “Do you have some?”

  “It’s the only way Sawyer will drink it. Me too, for that matter. I’ll just be a minute. Add another log.”

  Billie’s hands trembled as she set the tray with cups and a plate of cookies from the big house. This was an unheard-of event. Riley never came to the studio first. He was evidently dreading the confrontation with his father as much as she was.

  She waited until Riley had almost finished his chocolate before she asked about Mike.

  “He’s going to be okay. They’re thinking of a bone transplant. He’s back east now. I’m going to call him on Christmas Day to see how things are progressing. Mam, I had to do what I did. I’d do it again.”

  “I know that, Riley.”

  “Pap isn’t going to understand. I’ve been avoiding him. I wasn’t going to come home for Christmas, but I couldn’t do that to you and Sawyer. I really wanted to go to New York to see how Mike is doing.”

  “It’s time you stood up to both your father and grandfather. We can only hope they listen.”

  “Call Pap, Mam. Ask him to come down here now and talk. I sort of feel that this is neutral ground.”

  “Are you sure, Riley?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Do you want to talk to him on the phone?”

  “No,” Riley said shortly.

  Moss picked up the phone on the second ring. “Moss, it’s Billie. Riley is here. He’d like you to come down.... I can’t do that. Riley wants you to come here.... I can’t believe you’re saying that, Moss. I didn’t even know he was here till he rang the bell.” Billie listened a moment, then hung up.

  “He’s angry. With both of us. He’s not taking the divorce well, and I believe he’s regarding this visit of yours here as betrayal. We’ll wait awhile to see if he comes down. How about some more chocolate?”

  “I’d like that, thanks. Mam . . . tell me—how do you feel about having a draft dodger for a son?”

  Billie thought for a moment. “I think there are worse things in life. I think Vietnam is a senseless war, and the mother in me wants you safe.”

  “Mam, it has nothing to do with my personal safety. I don’t believe in Vietnam. Our guys are being slaughtered over there. For what?”

  The doorbell pealed, and both Billie and Riley jumped. Billie drew a deep breath and went to open the door.

  There was no joyful reunion between Moss and Riley. Both looked to Billie as if they were squaring off to do battle. Billie’s eyes were drawn to her son. The moment she saw the anguish in him, she realized that Riley would do whatever his father wanted.

  “I’m disappointed, Riley,” Moss said bluntly. “Let’s not talk around and up and down this thing. What you did was wrong. It was sinful. I never shirked my duty. I never turned my back on my country. This country has been damn good to the Colemans and don’t you ever forget it!”

  “Pap, will you at least try to understand? Will you listen?”

  “Not if you’re going to give me that same old crap you gave those newspaper people. That hurt, boy. Your granddaddy almost had another stroke over that little performance.”

  “It wasn’t a performance. It was the way I felt and the way the others feel. I still feel that way. We don’t belong in Vietnam. And if you tell me we do, I’ll tell you you just want to sell more planes to the government.”

  “That’s enough, Riley.”

  “No, it isn’t. I’m not afraid, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not a coward.”

  “That’s the way it looks from where I’m sitting. That’s the way other decent folks are looking at it. Jesus, in handcuffs yet. I had to do some fancy talking to get around that one. You are going to stop this, aren’t you?” .

  Riley stared at his father. What had he expected? Love, understanding? Just like that his father expected him to stop to restructure his thinking to the Coleman point of view. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother wringing her hands as she followed the one-sided conversation.

  Instead of answering his father directly, Riley turned to gather up his jacket. “Do you know what I wish, Pap? I wish I’d never been born a Coleman.” Without another word, he left the studio.

  Moss sat down in Billie’s chair and dropped his head into hands. Billie wanted to go to him, but she stood firm.

  “You were hard on him. Too hard, Moss. Why can’t you try to understand?”

  “Is that what you think, that I don’t understand? I understand. He’s afraid. Don’t tell me you didn’t think it for a minute or two yourself.”

  “Riley isn’t a liar. If he says he isn’t afraid, then he isn’t afraid. He simply doesn’t believe in Vietnam.”

  “Billie, he burned his draft card! Do you know what that means? Stop thinking like a mother for a minute.”

  “Moss, I am his mother and I’m simply trying to understand our son.”

  “You’re condoning all of this, aren’t you?” Moss exploded.

  “I’m trying to understand! If you take that to mean I’m condoning it, then, yes, I am.”

  “Well, I’ll never understand it, not in a million years. My son!” Moss said bitterly.

  “Our son,” Billie corrected Moss. “Why don’t you go up to the house and talk to him? Talk to him like a father, not like the head of Coleman Enterprises. Don’t spoil what you have with your son.”

  “Like I spoiled everything else. Isn’t that what you were going to say next?”

  Billie sighed. “Leave it, Moss. This isn’t the time to air grievances.”

  But Moss wasn’t to be deterred. “You remind me of Riley now. Both of you; the girls, too. All you’ve ever done was bitch and gripe about the Colemans and the money. But not one of you ever turned your back on it.”

  “That’s unfair, Moss. I never wanted the money. All I wanted was you.”

  “You had me.”

  “I never had you, Moss. You always belonged to someone else—Look, I’m very tired, Moss. It’s late, and I would like you to leave.”

  “We’ll talk again, Billie.”

  “It won’t do any good.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ll be back. I want us to have a nice Christmas.”

  “What makes this Christmas different from all the others? You never seemed concerned before. It’s too late. Don’t you understand? I’m going through with the divorce. Please, go to Riley—he needs to talk to you. You need to talk to him.”

  When the door closed, Billie wanted to cry. She sat in front of the fire, watching the flames shoot up the chimney. So many years had gone by. So much had happened. Her youth was gone; her children were grown. Her marriage was over—by her choice.

  Perhaps this divorce action she’d initiated was a mistake. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. What did she really want? What would make her happy? Moss’s undying love? A bitter laugh escaped her. She bent over and tossed another log into the fire, then shifted her position on the comfortable sofa and curled her legs under her.

  Love ... that beautiful, intangible, fragile emotion. Where had it gone? It was still within her, she knew, but so deeply buried that resurrecting it would only cause more heartbreak and pain. No. Her marriage was over. Part of her would always love Moss. Part of her would forever cherish the dream. That’s what she would mourn and grieve for—the loss of the dream. But it was her turn now.

  Billie stirred and woke. For a moment she felt disoriented, then she remembered turning off the lamp next to the sofa where she’d been resting and realized she’d fallen asleep. The fire had become smoldering ashes. She shivered and wrapped her colorful afghan more tightly around her.

  It was an hour or so till dawn, she surmised without looking at her watch—officially Christmas Eve. Thad always called on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. Th
is year it would be such a relief to talk to him. She had so much to tell him.

  Christmas. A day to rejoice. If only there was something to rejoice about. Sawyer, of course. But little else. Billie sighed. Soon, after the first of the year, all of this would be behind her. She would move into the city and start her new life.

  Shivering in the early-morning dawn, Billie tossed the afghan aside and added several birch logs to the fire. She sprinkled the fire with fragrant pine cones and then crept back to her nest on the couch.

  Yes, one more week and she would be on her own for the first time in her entire life. Better make that two weeks, she amended, or even a month—apartments might not be all that easy to find. One more month. That sounded about right.

  Moss raked his fingers through his hair as he stared at his son. “I can’t believe all this nonsense you’ve been spouting to me for the past two hours. I send you off to school hoping to give you the best education possible and what the hell do you do? You turn into a goddamn radical. . . . I expected more, Riley, a hell of a lot more,” Moss said, taking a deep breath. Jesus, was he getting through to this kid? Was he absorbing what he was hearing, or was he being polite? “Well, Riley, what do you have to say for yourself? Are you going to force me to yank you out of that college and send you someplace where you can’t get into trouble? Someplace like Notre Dame?”

  Riley could feel his gaze drift. He’d heard it all before, perhaps not in those exact words, but he’d played and replayed his father’s response over and over in his mind for weeks now, and he was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of making excuses, and damn sick and tired of being a Coleman, whatever the hell that meant.

  “Riley, I’m talking to you. Are you going to answer me? ... I want you to stop this foolishness and start acting like a man. We’re all going to put this behind us and start fresh. You are not to ever shame us this way again. Do we understand each other, Riley?”

  “Yes, Pap. Can I go to sleep now? It’s almost morning.”